New World Symphony
by TheYoungAlcoholic
Summary: AU. As the newest cellist for the Chicago Symphony, one man finds himself lost in a city he once called home. 'Heero Yuy never was a man who treasured memories...But he would never misplace the memory of his first encounter with Relena Peacecraft.'
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Gundam Wing, nor do I hold any rights with the title and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, or any other well known established orchestras mentioned. I just love to watch and hear them all.

**AN: **I have found myself extremely attracted to this idea of a new story of mine and have become extremely picky to make it my best. But I also realize that the concepts and fashions of classical music and symphonies is probably not quite well known with most people. So, I will add a music dictionary list at the end of the chapters if needed. I'm a fan of all music, especially classical. I don't expect all readers to appreciate classical music, but I do strongly suggest that you listen to recordings of the pieces that will be mentioned in the story (especially the New World Symphony by Antonín Dvořák because it truly is one of the greatest symphonies ever produced). I promise you that it will benefit you a great deal. Not only will you be able to understand the story better, but it's also great knowledge to add to your classical music library. And chances are at least one of the pieces mentioned you've probably heard before. Also, if you ever get a chance to hear the Chicago Symphony play I highly recommend that you see them. Enjoy!

**New World Symphony**

**Chapter I**

He would always remember the first time he laid eyes on Relena Peacecraft. How her formal black gown wrapped around her every curve as she stood elegantly beside the bar. Her honey-blonde hair flowed smoothly down her bare back and the diamonds around her slender neck glistened. The light shined down upon her breasts; a fair touch of gold and they almost seemed to glow. She exposed her left leg out in the open through the high slit of her dress. She had a nice leg and he wondered how long and lean her other one must be. He watched as she casually opened her small handbag with delicate hands draped in black arm-length gloves, and tipped the bartender after he settled her club soda down in front of her. His memory of her embedded itself within the compounds of his mind like the heartache of a first love.

And it would never leave.

She took a sip of her drink and he watched as the liquid slid through her glossy red lips. By the way she drank, he identified her to be the type who cautiously made sure that appearance was upheld no matter where she was. He caught a sense of wealth involved with her petite frame.

She placed the half-empty drink down on the counter and thanked the bartender. Before reaching for her handbag, she quickly dusted imaginary particles off the hip of her dress. People were beginning to find their seats, signaling that the performance was about to start. And at that moment, believing that she must have felt his eyes, her gaze left her dress and immediately locked onto his. He suddenly found himself paralyzed, and could not dare to turn away from her eyes that danced like the lights on a Christmas tree. Her blue orbs sparkled peacefully, reminding him of dew that glistened on the grass just before sunrise.

Who knows how long they remained like that. People passed on by, but she stood still. She was all he saw. And he was pretty certain that it was the same for her.

Then she smiled. It was a small one, where her cheekbones barely raised and the skin pinched around her eyes in amusement, but it was a smile nonetheless. He felt the air pause in his lungs as he held his breath. An awkward warmth chilled his body and mind as she held it a little longer. But the loneliness in it did nothing and it was too much for him to handle.

* * *

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­The lights began to dim low as the sound of the orchestra tuning their instruments filled the auditorium. He felt silence's presence for a moment or two before the crowd's applause shattered the atmosphere and the conductor proudly strutted to the center of the stage, taking his bow before shaking hands with the concert master.

The Chicago Symphony Orchestra quickly regained their posture and began with the night's performance of Dvořák's, _Symphony No. 9 in E minor _from the _New World Symphony. _

A few coughs and sniffles echoed through Orchestra Hall as the first movement quietly began. The violas hummed a melancholy tone; their vibratos pulsed the soft and steady sentiment. He watched through the corner of his eye as a late audience member found her seat next to him. Mentally noticing her roundness he wondered how she'd ever fit into the chair. Brushing off the thought, he returned his attention back to the performance. The violins fitfully ascended up a semi-scale line; the rest of the orchestra played their part as the French horn covered a different tune from the back. The timpanist quickly decrescendoed his trill as the prologue came to an end and the transition to chapter one of the New World Symphony had commenced.

Continuous series of crescendos, diminuendos, and ostinatos passed along to different instruments followed the movement's course of passage. Just the attitude of expressions and dynamics alone captured the true essence of Dvořák's intensions of composing music. Behind every great work of art, there are the thoughts of a genius. And from these thoughts, there comes a line of classics and culture that develop into masterpieces. From intense presto phrases to dolce lines of sighs, Dvořák always had a way of keeping even the average minded man on his toes and awake.

And without warning he suddenly pictured the frame of the blonde woman from before. He saw her womanly aspects and fair skin tone. She was looking at him again, her smile intact and her head slightly cocked to the side. It was as if she seemed to be asking him to join her in his mind. Slowly, she moved her long slender legs to the point where…

He blinked several times in surprise. How was it possible for his mind to lose consciousness and revert to such images? And how could he be thinking such a thing, especially when he was at a symphony? Scolding himself and trying to rid the pervious gesture, he grunted and then attempted desperately to lower the pulse of his heartbeat. Granted that this piece was one of his favorites, but the memory of the woman at the bar punctured itself into his focus. First encounters always make lasting impressions, but never had he become so entwined in emotions by any woman, especially by first looks alone. He would admit that she was indeed attractive, but he was young. His youth was just getting the best of him, he thought.

A frenzied forte from the symphony concluded the end of the first movement as the once frantic sounds stopped short and a now calmer tone carried on. The second movement began with proud asserted fanfare. A new melody carried about, this time a more sad and longing one. Largo was perhaps one of the most sympathetic pieces of music he had ever heard. A nostalgic feeling traveled through the air as the audience watched the orchestra synchronize their bow movements. This was the Chicago Symphony at their best. He felt a sense of pride as he watched the cellos. It was good to know that he wouldn't be working with any idiots here, but then he remembered why he was here in the first place and his eyes narrowed at past annoyance.

The very large woman sitting beside him suddenly shifted uncomfortably in her seat. He imagined it to be fairly tight for her. He averted back to the performance and closed his eyes, allowing the music to take him into a light slumber. He tucked his chin towards his chest and crossed his arms. The melancholy melody only led him to ponder about the composer's own mood when composing this movement.

Dvořák had always been a man most influential with those of Czech styles. Born a peasant, he understood the importance of traditional folk music and the meanings behind them. When he came to America in 1892, he quickly felt that wave of homesickness wash over him. As the saying goes, you can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boy. And as a way to ease his pain he wrote this symphony, the _New World Symphony_. Of course all of his music included the traditional sounds that he had grown accustomed too, but no other work of his can come close to the true emotions and passions that must have dwelled inside of him as he wrote this; one of the greatest symphonies of all time. And it was because of this that he gained an utmost respect for Dvořák.

Pianissimo had carried out for a majority of the piece, with the exception of its restless outbursts, but Dvořák would soon regain his more upbeat stature as the symphony's diminuendo announced the conclusion of the second movement. The maestro slowly brought his left arm down to his side, baton still up, permitting the musicians to take a brief pause to change their music. The audience remained quiet as it was polite etiquette not to clap in-between movements. He was pleased to know that there were no fools present for tonight's performance. Once the symphony resituated themselves, the maestro raised his left hand in equal balance with his other and dove straight into the third movement.

He waited patiently in his seat and observed the people on stage. He admired how the instruments glowed and shimmered under the artificial light. The basses' fine wood glinted a glare every so often as the bassists shifted their large instruments an inch or two. Colors of gold and silver playfully bounced off the back walls from the brass section, specifically from the trombonists pulling their slides back and forth.

The third movement of the _Symphony No. 9 in E minor _was quite a remarkable one. Though not quite well known as the first two, the Scherzo still had a style somewhat similar to the first. If he were to describe into words, it would be like…

He was at war. The enemy was no where to be found. Using only the supplies that he had with him, he needed to find a way out and far from harm. But in this world, where is it ever safe? He dashed to another hiding spot only to find that he was back where he first began. Taking a moment or two, he recalled a time when he last felt safe. He remembered his first concert and his first solo performance. He remembered life before _he_ left. Then suddenly there came a gunfire. He was being hunted once again. Looking for another way out, he dashed once more to another spot, once again to find himself running around in circles. Memories reentered his mind and he watched them through his eyes. The concerts, the performances, that one moment with _him_, and-

_That woman…_

His eyes shot open at the surprising image that tip-toed silently into his mind. It was beginning to annoy him that he could not keep a steady control over himself. It irritated him whenever he lost control over something, especially over something as worthless as a woman. While questioning his mentality he listened to where things currently were in the program.

A more upbeat tempo excited the airs compacted within the concert hall like the animal movements on a merry-go-round. The sounds of 'dings' and 'rings' and the phrases from the flutes replaced the once melancholy tune into a joyous one. He was displeased to learn that most of the evening had been wasted due to such useless ponderings and unwelcoming thoughts. He had missed most of the crucial portions of the symphony.

The passing of the melody eventually reached the cellos. He watched as the cellists gracefully pulled their bows to match the beat of the baton. A familiar tune from the first movement returned; this time in a different key. In just a matter of moments it reached total silence until the timpanist proclaimed the final note while accompanied by the rest of the orchestra. He knew this symphony well and anticipated the final installment of Dvořák's masterpiece well on its way.

His eyes roamed around unconsciously as a tune similar to that of Jaws opened the fourth movement. The night was coming to a close. He observed people as they shrugged off the stiff feeling in their shoulders and legs. He was beginning to feel a cramp in his leg too; it hadn't move since the beginning of the symphony. He pushed down on the floor to raise himself a little higher in his chair so he could remove his black dress pants from sticking to the bottom of his thighs. Then he shrugged his shoulders to loosen up his matching suit jacket. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his round neighbor watch him with slight annoyance. That didn't bother him. He wasn't one who cared what people thought of him.

_But that woman…_

God damn him tonight for he was hating himself, but damn her along with him. She was no concern of his. He was here for a reason and she only seemed to be distracting him on his mission. He didn't even know her, so why was she such a hassle? Once again he tried to ignore his absent-minded state and preoccupy himself with the remainder of the performance. A little tune of what sounded like 'Hot, Cross, Buns' echoed twice among different instruments. The Chicago Symphony were one of the few who could really perform Dvořák to his true potential, and he was not going to miss it because of some damn woman.

Just like the rest of the movements of this symphony, there came sudden crescendos of powerful strength conjuring magic to the imagination with help from the few, but proud brass and woodwind section. Then, in an instant it would all die down into a beautiful, soft alternate reality where one could feel their heartbeat return to normal. All would be peaceful and still as light feathery tunes floated across the medium in the air and numbed all of one's senses. And just like that, Dvořák would start another rally of intense agitation in just a blink of an eye. And it would continue on like this until he felt the time was right to return the audience to their own world after visiting his.

He listened as the flutes fluttered and bounced for a moment before the tuba would come crashing in. This repeated once more until the violas and cellos interrupted with their own staccato and the flutes returned to replay the melody. Then the violins would screech higher and higher until stopping to tremolo as the French horn and trumpet reclaimed the infamous tune from earlier.

Now everything was coming together. Tunes of past melodies playing over each other returned in the final scenes as the symphony finally reached the climax of the piece. Their triumphant fortissimo filled every crack and corner of the auditorium. The strings stressed their movements as the notes got higher and higher, the percussions banged, the woodwinds trilled, and the brass blared out alongside with the rest of the orchestra. Every member on stage was no doubtfully sweating as the conductor's baton flicked heavier and heavier. The finale was just around the corner.

Without any recognition on his present state of mind, he unconsciously turned his head to the left and saw her sitting only two rows in front him. Her eyes reminded him of a shine above the ocean's surface as the sun cast its warm rays of light upon it. And by the way her blue orbs danced in excitement, he figured that she too was a true fan of Dvořák. Whatever thoughts and curses he bestowed upon her earlier left instantly as he allowed his gaze to linger on her awhile longer. He enjoyed looking at her.

'Bum'- Rest - 'Bum - Bum - Bum'- Rest - 'Bum' - Rest - 'Bum'

The symphony sustained the last note for a beat longer as the maestro strongly whipped his free hand around the circumference of his head and stopped abruptly after one rotation. People all over immediately stood up and clapped frantically for the symphony's performance. He lost sight of her just as the large woman beside him rose and blocked his view. He cursed at the woman inside his head and quickly jumped to his feet desperate to see her.

The maestro walked off stage and then back into the spotlight after shaking hands with the concert master one last time that night. The crowd clapped and cheered even louder as he walked off and reentered once again for another encore, but by the end of the fourth encore people began to head for the exits. His head bobbled up and down, left to right as he searched for her. Finally, the large woman bounced away leaving an open area of absence.

She couldn't have gotten far.

He hastily charged towards one of the exits, only to be halted behind a horrible train wreck of people through one of the double doors. Perspiration began to form above his brow as he glared at the turtle-like men and women that were blocking his new mission. Damn his friend for not giving him a seat closer to the exist. Damn these people for not understanding the purpose of moving faster. Damn himself for even caring. Damn that woman for making him care!

It took him a good five minutes to make it out, but when he successfully made it through the doors and into the hallway, he only stopped to pin point the direction of his pursuit.

There no sign of her.

This was mad and he consciously knew it. What would he gain if he did find her? Perhaps a disgusted look. Did she even know that she was on his mind all night? Or maybe she'd even call security, asking them to remove him from her sight.

_'But that smile.'_

No, she didn't strike him as the type of woman who would rudely push him aside in such a manner. She seemed more…kindhearted.

And without a second thought he took off running. He ran through the crowd of high class women with their fur coats and wealthy gentlemen and their sharp suits. He ran past the large woman he was sitting by earlier, roughly brushing against her shoulder. She huffed as she watched the back of his body disappear through the crowd where even more people were pushed aside.

Finally catching sight of the lobby he accelerated his pace, almost knocking over a gentleman who in return shouted at him. But he paid no attention. His mission right now was to find that young woman.

And there she was.

He watched from the balcony above the lobby as she handed in her ticket to the coat checker and retrieved her coat. From underneath the chandelier she seemed to glow even more brighter, like God himself admired her beauty from above. He needed to see her. He needed to at least know her name.

The crowd standing by the door was even more enormous than the ones back at the exists. Many were waiting for their rides and spare taxis to arrive. And many just stood behind the swinging doors to escape the harsh weather outside. February in Chicago was no walk-in-the-park.

He watched as she headed towards the doors. Her golden aura allowed him to identify her from the crowd. He looked left and right at the staircases and growled at the hold up. She was almost out the doors. There was no way he would be able to make it down the stairs before she'd leave the building.

There was only one option.

He placed both hands upon the railing and swung his body over without a second thought. Women screamed and men pointed as they saw him hurl himself over the railing and land flat on his feet, just as she walked through the swinging doors. He quickly followed her pursuit, ignoring the sharp pain that stabbed at the soles of his feet.

Fighting through another crowd of worthless people, he finally managed to drag himself outside. His body spun around countless times looking for the direction she took. The winter chill pierced through his suit and into his bare skin. He immediately felt his body temperature drop and the sweat once above his brow froze. Taxies honked and people shouted out on the streets. Visible steam rose out of the manholes above the ground. Chicago was busy tonight, as it was every night.

His search stopped short as he saw her get inside of a waiting taxi and take off. As if the night wasn't crazy enough, he took off running after her once more.

He didn't care that he almost got hit by traffic five or six times. He didn't care that the soles of his new dress shoes were ruined. If only he knew at that moment, he would have continued chasing after her. He would have told her how her smile paralyzed his sense of thinking; how her laugh made him want to be a better person; how her touch shocked him with a deep jolt of new emotions; how he'd finally find a safe place within her arms; how waking up next to her in the morning was like heaven; how he'd realize that she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But most importantly, he would have told her how much he loved her and needed her in his life.

But he stopped his pursuit after another couple of blocks. Even after the extensive work-out, he still felt winter's cruel frost bite at his heart. His chest heaved up and down as his warm breath fogged up outside. His tie dangled from behind his shoulder. And an inhospitable feeling of failure washed through his body like a tsunami as he watched the taxi disappear into the night.

Heero Yuy never was a man who treasured memories of anything. He believed in going about life treating it as a whole new day; living in the moment and acting upon his emotions. Life itself was a cheap destination that had few rewards and always guaranteed distraught. But he would never misplace the memory of his first encounter with Relena Peacecraft.

* * *

Music List:

Concert master- the first chair, first violinist (male).

Crescendo- to grow louder.

Decrescendo/diminuendo - to grow softer.

Forte-loud.

Pianissimo-very soft.

Fortissimo-very loud.

Ostinato- repeated melody or rhythmic fragment .

Presto- crazy fast.

Bow- polite gesture/hairs attached to wood used to play string instruments.


	2. Chapter II

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Gundam Wing, nor do I hold any rights with the title, music pieces listed, and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, or any other well known established orchestras mentioned.

**AN:** Okay, I'm here to recommend another piece of music that would be exceptional for you all to hear and would help out with this story. It's Tchaikovsky's, _Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 35_. As one of the greatest violin concertos, it is quite lengthy. There are three movements and the first one is around 20 minutes long. Yes, I know that can get extremely tiring, but it is a great masterpiece and the violin solo is absolutely beautiful. This is the only violin concerto that Tchaikovsky wrote. I can't really put this piece into words besides amazing and gorgeous. Trust me, it is worth listening to for half an hour of your life.

**New World Symphony**

**Chapter II**

It was a sunny afternoon in Chicago, although it sure didn't feel like it. The March chill still lingered early in the year and no one expected temperatures to rise anytime soon. Heero gazed out the window of the taxi as it slowly came to a stop. People bundled up quickly ran across the crosswalks and into nearby buildings. Tourists frantically hopped off a tour bus across the street as a long line of traffic quickly pilled up behind. Taxi drivers in all directions were sticking their heads out the windows and yelling what he presumed to be obscene words in many different languages. It was a typical day in Chicago, but still a sunny afternoon nonetheless.

"You gettin' off or what?" The annoyed taxi driver spat behind his shoulder with a cigarette trapped between the right corner of his mouth. Throughout the entire ride Heero had smelt the stench of tobacco and it sickened him. He would have pulled down the window, but that would have let the cold air in. Now he secretly thought about yanking the cigarette from the driver's mouth and sticking it up where it wasn't very sunny. He jerked the car door open quickly wanting to rid himself from causing another scene with some obnoxious fool.

He made an estimate earlier that it was probably around fifty degrees outside, and as soon as he opened the door of the taxi he felt that the temperature must have dropped even more. His body immediately felt the cold stab through his clothes and bare face.

"Hurry it up!" Shouted from inside.

Heero glared at the driver's hasty demand. He succeeded in shutting the man up as he cowardly turned back around in his seat. Taking his time, Heero casually got out of the car and stood to pop the collar of his coat to warm the back of his neck. He slammed the door close roughly behind him and headed towards the trunk to retrieve his cello. Even though it was concealed within the most expensive hard case he could find, he still felt uneasy leaving it in the trunk, especially the trunk of a taxi. Unfortunate as it was, he was left with no other choice.

The taxi roared off as soon as he slammed the trunk shut, leaving behind intoxicating fumes shooting out from the exhaust pipe. If there was anything Heero hated more than leaving his cello unattended in the back of a trunk, it was his hate for taxis. God, he hated taxis. Now he was beginning to regret moving back to this wretched city.

_'It's been eight years.'_

Heero set his case down and looked up at the building before him. People with their prized coffee and newspaper in hand skillfully whizzed around him in a bee-line like the busy bees that they were. Standing before the great concert hall, he felt a slight breeze pass a sense of incomplete transactions. He was here just last month, but this time it felt different. No, it was different. He read the words 'Orchestra Hall' engraved into the stone heading. It took him eight years to finally reach this spot, and this time not as a spectator.

Not wanting to get caught in the middle of a flashback- knowing that the clock was ticking- he retrieved his case and made his way inside. He didn't want to be late on his first day on the job, but then again they were probably well aware of his record. First impressions alone might not do him justice at this point.

The symphony was in the middle of rehearsal. He could hear them practicing as he made his way backstage. The strings and not surprisingly, voices were muffled against the heavy curtains draped along the walls. It seemed that the Chicago Symphony Chorus was practicing along side with the orchestra, and by the looks of things, an upcoming concert was sure to have both performing.

He situated himself within the shadow of the back curtain and set his case down to watch the group of men and women perched on the high risers. They stood proudly with their lyrics in hands, glancing up every so often to watch the conductor as he held the tempo. The lights on stage cast an overpowering glow over all the members. It was just like watching their performance from that night, only this time everyone was dressed casually and there were singers. Heero watched as the symphony's chorus sang a hopeful melody with the orchestra playing in the background. He recognized the piece to be Verdi's, _Nabucco_, and they were currently rehearsing the chorus, '_Va, Pensiero, Sull'ali Dorate'_.

The opera was a tale of faith and freedom as the Hebrews struggled under persecution from King Nebuchadnezzar, otherwise known as Nabucco. Though suffering through hardships, the people kept their beliefs and will alive. And Heero heard exactly that as he listened to the symphony rehearse.

The strings bounced the three-beat harmony; the lower strings on the first note and the upper strings on the next two. The chorus carried on the melody through the sounds of their voice against the light-felt rhythm from the orchestra. Suddenly they all crescendoed into the phrase with a dynamic forte. Heero felt the stage tremble slightly from underneath his feet. Then it quickly quieted down for a moment or two before starting up again. It was simply amazing how any human emotion was capable of coming alive through the magic of music.

He watched them rehearse a little longer until the conductor clapped his hands to gain everyone's attention. "Let's take a fifteen minute break now everyone," he said before stepping down from the podium. The musicians placed their instruments down and got up to stretch as the chorus headed for water offstage. The lights were beginning to warm his body so Heero took off his coat, set it on top of his case, and silently made his way to the front where the conductor was conversing with the concert master that he knew too well.

The violinist peered over the maestro's shoulder as soon as Heero emerged into the light. His eyes widened with joy as he recognized him and politely excused himself for a moment. "Heero!" The young man greeted with excitement. "You're finally here!"

Heero nodded and approached his friend of nearly twelve years. "Hello, Quatre."

Quatre Raberba Winner, a well respected man from a well respected family. Heero had known him since his days back in high school. Both of them participated in the same quartet together their freshmen year and later attended college in New York. Coming from the best money could offer, Quatre always received a high quality education and eventually got accepted into Juilliard. And even though he ended up attending the Manhattan School of Music, Quatre always found a reason to come and visit him on the weekends.

Quatre happily stuck out his hand and Heero took it welcomingly. "It's so good to see you again, Heero," he smiled and shook his hand even harder. His eyes squinted with delight as his cheekbones surfaced higher and higher. It was like watching a little boy on Christmas day. Quatre hadn't changed a bit. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a white button-down shirt; it was his usual well-appreciated dress code.

Heero noticed a gold ring on his left hand and smirked. "So you finally settled with Dorothy." It was more of a statement than a question. Besides, he already knew the answer.

He remembered Dorothy Catalonia as Quatre's girlfriend from college. Both had met at Juilliard. He was a violinist and she played the oboe. How that ever worked out was beyond him, but he remembered Quatre telling him one night on one of his weekend visits that he intended on marrying her. Heero knew Quatre, and he knew that Quatre was a man of his word.

The young concert master blushed a slight pink. "Yeah. We just had our first anniversary last month."

Heero nodded before adding, "Congratulations."

Quatre was just about to thank him when the conductor walked up beside the two.

"Forgive me for interrupting this joyous reunion," he said with a smooth, calm voice that bothered Heero. The man looked fairly young to be a conductor, especially for a symphony such as this one. But then again he was fairly young to be in the symphony himself. "You must be Heero Yuy."

When Heero said nothing, Quatre turned an even darker shade of pink as he spoke up. "Where are my manners? I didn't even bother introducing you two."

The conductor raised his hand to pardon Quatre's mistake and chuckled lightly. "That's quite alright." He returned his attention to Heero. "I'm Treize Khushrenada." A tiny smirk escaped his hard set face.

Heero mentally analyzed the man. His blonde hair slicked back with a strand or two hanging over. He wore a dark blue dress shirt that had its top two buttons undone and his black tie was loosened a bit to hang freely. His black dress pants were evenly ironed and he could see his reflection through his black dress shoes.

"Heero Yuy. Pleasure." Right off the introduction Heero secretly despised the maestro.

Treize placed his right hand on his hip and allowed the other one to hang at his side. "Mr. Yuy," he began, "I was quite surprised to hear that you had sent in an audition tape requesting a chair here. It's not very common for anyone to leave the Boston Symphony, or any other fine established groups on such short notice during the season." He closed his eyes as his tone grew more serious. "However, I was very moved by your style and technique performed on the tape. You have the ability to perform miraculous feats, and I am pleased to be having such a gifted cellist joining my symphony."

Heero said nothing and only waited. Mentally calculating the possibilities of what Treize was going to say next, he came up with a ninety-seven percent chance it would deal with his previous employment.

He watched as the conductor smirked and instantly knew he was right.

"The matter on what happened with Boston is none of my concern. The rebirth of something new should not be taken lightly. New beginnings are not only beautiful, but sacred. I'm quite intrigued in watching how you invest with this given opportunity." Heero just silently listened, becoming slightly annoyed by the conductor's speech.

"I'm confident that we won't run into any trouble, just as long as you can play exactly how you did on your audition and follow my orders."

It took a moment before Heero finally conceded with a small nod of his head. Treize's eyes lit up with satisfaction. The fox in him was brushing his whiskers slyly.

"Very well then. Welcome to the Chicago Symphony." Treize placed his hand out to conclude the greeting. Heero's eyes never left his as he took his hand and shook with an equal amount of strength to match the maestro's. Both held on for a little longer than needed. The battle wasn't physically visible, but through the eyes of both men. Heero watched the gleam in Treize's eye flash like the glare off a gun. When they finally broke apart, the conductor walked away to converse with a group of young ladies.

Heero's first impression of Treize Khushrenada wasn't anything that he didn't expect. He seemed to be the type who could easily flatter and deceive with a simple gesture, and Heero considered him to be a man who toyed with people using his words. His position as maestro gifted him with a power that he was surely putting into use. But to follow Treize's orders was not something Heero took considerately. He followed his own orders.

His reflections were stopped short as he felt someone slap him hard across the back. His chest jerked a little forward as his eyes flashed to his right. He knew that slap and he knew the annoying presence he felt behind him. Yanking the hand off and turning to get a good look at his assaulter, he came face to face with a wide grinning idiot with chestnut colored hair tied in a long braid.

"Duo."

Duo Maxwell, another friend of Heero's back in high school. Duo was a percussionist and played in the school symphony along with him and Quatre. He was always goofing around and never did take music seriously. In fact, he never took anything seriously and that was what bothered Heero the most. After high school, Duo traveled to California and attended the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. Surprisingly, he came back to Illinois after receiving acceptance with the Chicago Symphony. And how he ever got in just dumbfounded Heero.

"Whoa, buddy," said Duo as he jumped back a few steps. "It kinda looked like you were about to hit me there. You never call or write and this is how you say hello? You wouldn't want to get kicked out of this symphony too, now would ya?"

"Duo," growled Heero as he advanced towards him. It had been awhile since he seriously got to hit something and he could feel his knuckles aching for it. The pulse in his hands were growing stronger.

"Heero, it was just a joke!" Duo ran behind the backs of two other symphony members that appeared by Quatre's side. One was taller than the other with light brown hair overlapping one side of his face. Only his right eye was visible and it gazed with amusement. The other had a more Asian build and his black hair mimicked his stern impression. His typical Chinese look of fury laid across his face as he scowled at the scene before him.

"I see you're only looking for trouble again, Heero," said the taller one as he laughed.

The Chinese man smirked. "And you haven't even been here for more than ten minutes."

"Trowa. Wufei," greeted Heero, or was at least his idea of a greeting.

Trowa Barton and Wufei Chang, the last remaining high school friends that Heero had left. Trowa had always been an exceptional flutist with great musical sense that he could immediately tame a wild best to rest. He and Trowa had always shared a passion for music and he believed it was what started their friendship. He respected his perseverance as a fellow musician. Wufei on the other hand, he viewed more as a competitor. The man left for China during their junior year to study under someone that Heero didn't give a damn about, only promising to return a better musician than him. And Heero was still waiting for him to prove it.

"It's good to see you again, Heero," said Trowa calmly.

Heero nodded his head. "Likewise."

"Well, guys," said Duo, stepping in to place his arms around both Heero and Quatre. "It took us eight long years to get here, but we finally made it."

Every one of the friends smiled, even Heero, but just barely; it was hard to notice anyway. Their high school dreams to one day play for the Chicago Symphony together had finally come true. Growing up right there in Chicago and then separating for college, it took them eight years to finally make it back where it all started.

"After rehearsal why don't we all go out for some dinner to celebrate," proposed Trowa.

Wufei smirked and Heero glared. He automatically knew his response would be something cheeky. "Yes, then we can get the full story of how Heero got kicked out of the Boston Symphony."

Heero snorted and crossed his arms. He felt no shame whatsoever over what happened. The one motto that he ever held onto in life was to act on his emotions. That was entirely different than becoming the cellist known for breaking a man's nose in the middle of rehearsal.

"Come on, Wufei," said Quatre as he placed a hand on Heero's shoulder. "Stop giving Heero such a hard time. Dinner sounds great, but first Heero needs to get his music." Quatre patted Heero on the back. "I'll walk you down to the music library."

They both began to head down to the library when Duo shouted, "Be sure to say hi to Sally for Wufei!" Everyone laughed with the exception of Heero and Wufei, who turned a tomato red and lunged for Duo's braid.

They entered a dimly lighted area of the hallway as they made their way to the library. Heero contented himself by admiring the architecture of the hall. Even backstage had its qualities. Little musical figures adorned various parts on the walls and headings. Whoever designed the building must have known that the Chicago Symphony Orchestra would be one of the finest symphonies in the world. People from all over would come and admire the beauty of the music, the group, and its home. What made it even more interesting was that now, he too had joined that inner circle of elite musicians that would further educate the world. Perhaps he could find some pleasure with this.

He continued to observe the designs on the wall as Quatre conversed in small talk.

"Did you make it to our last performance?"

"Hn."

There was an uneasy silence as Quatre waited for more to be said. When he figured he wasn't going to get any he continued. "What did you think?"

Heero shrugged. "Exactly what I expected from the Chicago Symphony."

Quatre thought about how time never mattered with Heero. He was still straight to the point like always. It was nice to have him around again, even if that meant his reserved status would give the illusion of him not even being there. "I'm really glad you decided to join us, Heero."

"You're the one who told me there was an opening in the cello section."

Quatre smiled at Heero's bluntness. Ever since their high school years, he learned that Heero never really had much to say. In fact, he never was a very social type of guy in general. That's why he believed that Heero looked to music for everything. It was his method of talking and expressing himself in ways that he would never do. Just give him his cello and bow and right away Heero would talk to you through his playing. It was probably what Maestro Khushrenada saw in him.

They stopped outside a door with a gold labeling on the front that read, 'Music Library'.

"Well, here we are," said Quatre. He knocked on the door and a faint, 'come in' came through. "Shall we?" He looked at Heero for a response. When silence became his company he proceeded to enter the room.

"Quatre." It was barely above a whisper.

He stopped short and turned to face his high school friend. "Yes, Heero?"

There was a brief pause as Quatre watched him look for the right words to say. "Thanks."

He smiled. "You're quite welcome." And the two passed through the door.

A room full of music did not surprise Heero. But a room full of music that was very tidily organized did. There were no stray papers hanging out of boxes, nor extra sheets lying around on the floor. It was remarkable. Shelves and shelves containing some of the greatest music the world had ever had the pleasure of hearing were neatly aligned up in rows. Heero was quite amazed, even though from the average person's point-of-view he looked unfazed.

A woman emerged from a office to his left. She was quite tall with blonde hair that curled at the end on both sides like the swirl of red on a candy cane. She wore a plain white shirt with a forest green shawl wrapped over her shoulders and matching green slacks. Immediately she smiled at the two and welcomed them in.

"Hello, Quatre." She had a nice warm tone in her voice.

"Good afternoon, Sally." Quatre moved aside to let Heero in. "Sally, this is Heero Yuy."

Heero automatically identified her to be Wufei's, 'Sally' as she looked over at him. Her eyes twinkled and her smiled never dropped. "It's nice to finally meet you, Heero. I've heard so much about you."

"Hn." It was all he could say.

Sally laughed. It was a deeper kind of laugh that he didn't hear from most women his age. It seemed to match her more masculine type of frame. He figured she must have been at least three years older than him. He smirked silently in his mind. Just the though of Wufei into older women amused him.

"I see you're not much of a talker. Like most musicians you probably let your instrument do all the talking, huh?" Her smile got a little bigger and more confident. She knew she was right with or without any expression from Heero.

"Well, I've got your music around here somewhere," she said as she went back into her office to search. Heero continued to admire the well stacked room. The boxes were even in correct alphabetical order. "Cello, right?" asked the librarian, her voice slightly muffled deep in her office. She took it as a yes when Heero never responded. A few moments later, she emerged with the music in hand. "Here you are, Heero."

He took the music and began inspecting it. He could easily identify most of the articles of music as he skimmed through them, but one in particular caught his attention.

Tchaikovsky's, _Violin Concerto in D, Op. 35_, was conceivably one of the best known violin concertos ever written. But it was also dubbed the title for being one of the most technically difficult works for violin. That was Heero's background knowledge on the piece. Perhaps if he had been a violinist, he would have cared more about the concerto.

"Who's playing the violin solo?" He asked Quatre, speaking for the first time since entering the room.

Quatre looked at the music he was referring to. "Oh, her name is Relena Peacecraft. She's a friend of mine from Juilliard. Well, actually she's good friends with Dorothy. The two were roommates back then and Dorothy introduced me to her, but we were in the same musicianship class together." It was always like Quatre to go in full depth when asked a simple question. "She's an outstanding violinist and I'm ecstatic to hear how she does with this significant concerto. Unfortunately, she couldn't make it to rehearsal today, but I'm sure you'll get to meet her tomorrow."

Heero really had no intention of meeting her though. In fact, he hadn't really been listening to anything Quatre had just said except for her name.

_Relena Peacecraft…_

He continued skimming through the music. "Never heard of her."


End file.
